Miles to Go Before I Sleep
by Sir Thopas
Summary: Harry could only watch as his world came crashing down around him. This wasn't a battle he could fight. There were no villains, no monsters; these things just happen. Marriages fail, people grow apart, and eventually we all die. But even old and crippled Harry wasn't going down without a fight.
1. Chapter 1

**Miles to Go Before I Sleep**

_Chapter 1_

The Burrow was as empty and silent as a ghost. It haunted Harry with memories of laughter, the sounds of many feet running up the stairs, great booming voices and the wailing of children. The Burrow was never meant to be so quiet. It was built to be filled with life, not chained to one lonely old man. Harry could feel that constant ache in his ancient bones creeping into the edges of his awareness as he slowly woke. Piercing light was streaming through the open window and the scent of berries hung heavy in the air. It was summertime again. Instead of warming his withered skin, the bright summer sun seemed to loom threateningly over him, seeping what little life he had left and leaving him cold and empty. He shivered beneath the thick quilt as cold chills ran through his body. He had always hated summer. As a child, summer had meant the Dursleys, and now, as an old man, it meant the one year anniversary of Ginny's death. He had been doing so well; there had even been days when he could think back on their time together without feeling that crushing sense of despair. But now as the blackness threatened to consume him he wondered at how he had done it. How could he have survived for a whole year without her? He tried to remember how he had bared it, but the memories were fuzzy like a far-off dream. He must have done it though. He was still here, wasn't he? But the pain was as sharp now as it was on the day she died and Harry couldn't bring himself to get out of bed. What was the point?

The sound of breaking china erupted through the still air, followed by low, hoarse grumbling. The voice sounded distressed and confused and with a jolt Harry was out of bed and moving as quickly as his old, stooped body would let him, snatching up his wand from the nightstand as he went. He remembered why he couldn't let himself drown in his own despair; people needed him. The mission wasn't done. There was always something to overcome. Harry found Kreacher in the kitchen, hovering around the overturned breakfast tray and broken dishes that were scattered across the floor with a look of utter bafflement. The elf focused in on him as he approached, but there was no recognition in those round, watery orbs, now glazed over with cataracts. The poor creature had no idea who he was or why he was here at the Burrow and not Grimmauld Place. "Miss Cissy is not acting like a proper young lady at all!" He suddenly blurted out.

Harry held up his hands soothingly, "Alright. I'll talk to her about it. You've done a fine job. Why don't you rest for a while?"

Kreacher squinted at him with a suspicious frown on his face, like he understood that Harry was merely trying to placate him but unable to find a way to express it. With a _crack!_ the elf was gone, hidden away in one of the cupboards. Harry cleaned the mess with a wave of his wand and let out a deep sigh. Kreacher was getting worse. His lucid periods were becoming shorter and shorter with each passing day and Harry honestly wasn't sure how he would be able to continue to care for him. Evenwhen the elf was perfectly sound in mind, he had grown belligerent and angry, more like the creature that Harry had first met all those years ago. It was obvious that Kreacher was embarrassed by what he had become. No house elf that had ever worked for the Black family had lived as long as Kreacher- by the time they had gotten to be half his age they had long outlived their usefulness.

Years ago, when he and Ginny had decided to retire and move back into the Burrow, Kreacher told him that he wanted to die the same way his mother had and all Black family house elves- murdered and decapitated, with his head mounted on the wall next to his mum like some twisted family reunion. Harry had forbidden him to ever ask him to do such a thing again. He ordered him to move out of Grimmauld and into the Burrow the next day.

Harry levitated the day's copy of _The Daily Prophet_ and sat down at the table, perusing the articles in an absent-minded way. He huffed out a sigh in annoyance as he read about the new Ministry ban on televisions. It had only been two years ago that the Wizarding World had tentatively started to experiment with television. Wizarding Britain could now proudly boast to having three channels, full of the most asinine programming that Harry had ever seen. Even the Muggles' attempts of remaking _Doctor Who_ was more enjoyable than the likes of_My Fair Hag_. But it was still progress and that counted for something, he supposed. However, as with anything Muggle related, there had been the usual backlash. The Ministry had been afire withfervent debates on whether introducing television to children might make them predisposed to violence, as evidenced by the countless wars the Muggles fought against themselves. Hermione had fought back, of course, and gave a passionate speech pointing out that wizards were just as violent, but that the statistics only seemed disproportionate because Muggles outnumbered wizards at least 100 to 1. The Ministry had never been persuaded by facts before, however, and television was banned. Harry couldn't say he was surprised by this, but he had hoped that relations between wizards and Muggles would eventually improve. It seemed to him that the Wizarding World would never learn from their mistakes, leaving someone else to clean up their messes. Someone like Harry and Dumbledore and Snape.

_Parents for Traditional Wizarding Values_ was the name of the group that had lobbied against introducing televisions into Wizarding homes. Harry rolled his eyes and crumbled up the paper, unable to read anymore of their Traditionalist spiel. The Traditionalists were like the Death Eaters in a way; oh, they never once used their words _superior_ and _inferior_, but they made it known in the most diplomatic and politest terms possible that wizards and Muggles should remain separate and never shall the two meet. It was like if Percy ever became a Death Eater, that was what a Traditionalist was. Harry snorted to himself at the thought. He could just imagine Percy at a Death Eater meeting, demanding that everyone fill out the proper forms and make sure they got the proper approval from their supervisor to go on a raid.

Harry was so lost in his own thoughts that it took him a while to realize that he could hear someone speaking. He shook away the cobwebs that were clinging to his mind. It was strange. He felt so muddled and confused all of a sudden. For a moment he had forgotten what he had been about to do, but then the he heard the whispering again and it came flooding back. Harry stood up quickly from the table and looked around, but there was no one around, and yet he could hear the soft, steady stream of words. Who could it possibly be? He hadn't heard anyone knock and he wasn't expecting any visitors. His kids were all grown and living their own lives and most of the other remaining Weasleys had all packed up and moved to London. Harry kept a tight grip on his wand and cautiously followed the voice down the hall. He headed towards the parlor and as he got closer he could make out what it was saying.

"'Who are you?' said the Caterpillar," the man's voice softly stated. It was definitely a man's voice and it sounded strangely familiar to Harry.

"This was not an encouraging opening for a conversation." He continued. "Alice replied, rather shyly, 'I - I hardly know, sir, just at present - at least I know who I was when I got up this morning, but I think I must have been changed several times since then.'

'What do you mean by that?' said the Caterpillar sternly. 'Explain yourself!'

'I can't explain myself, I'm afraid, sir' said Alice, 'because I'm not myself, you see.'

'I don't see,' said the Caterpillar."

Harry peeked into the parlor and pulled back in shock, lifting his wand just in case it wasn't some morbid trick. Dudley Dursley sat on the couch, reading out loud from _Alice's Adventures in Wonderland_. Only that was impossible because Dudley had been dead going on for ten years now and unlike wizards, Muggles couldn't come back as ghosts. Harry opened his mouth to call out to him, but before even a whimper could leave his lips indescribable pain came crashing down on top of his head. He remembered the floor rushing up towards him and the sudden realization that he was falling before his world suddenly went black.


	2. Chapter 2

**Miles to Go Before I Sleep**

_Chapter 2_

"'Cheshire Puss,' she began, rather timidly, as she did not at all know whether it would like the name: however, it only grinned a little wider. 'Come, it's pleased so far,' thought Alice, and she went on. 'Would you tell me, please, which way I ought to go from here?'

'That depends a good deal on where you want to get to,' said the Cat.

'I don't much care where—' said Alice.

'Then it doesn't matter which way you go,' said the Cat.

'—so long as I get SOMEWHERE,' Alice added as an explanation.

'Oh, you're sure to do that,' said the Cat, 'if you only walk long enough.'

Alice felt that this could not be denied, so she tried another question. 'What sort of people live about here?'

'In THAT direction,' the Cat said, waving its right paw round, 'lives a Hatter: and in THAT direction,' waving the other paw, 'lives a March Hare. Visit either you like: they're both mad.'

'But I don't want to go among mad people,' Alice remarked.

'Oh, you can't help that,' said the Cat: 'we're all mad here. I'm mad. You're mad.'

'How do you know I'm mad?' said Alice.

'You must be,' said the Cat, 'or you wouldn't have come here.'"

Harry regarded Dudley silently as the other man continued to read aloud. He was lying in a strange bed, his cousin sitting next to him, the book propped up on his knees. Harry wasn't quite sure what to make of this; it was true that he and Dudley had slowly become friends as they had aged, but they had never been so close that Dudley would come and read by his bedside. For one thing, Harry had no use for it since he was perfectly healthy, and another thing he didn't think Dudley had ever read a single book in his life.

Also, he was dead.

"Dudley," Harry began. "Don't think I'm not glad to see you, but what are you doing here?"

Dudley dropped the book he was holding and launched himself out of his chair, his eyes wide and amazed as he looked down at Harry. "You're awake?!"

* * *

"Don't just assume I'll do it!"

"Geez, Lil, that's cold. It's _Dad_ we're talking about."

"Don't give me that. I love Dad, but I _can't do it_. I'm already taking care Lydia and Matt by myself, what with Ethan away for most of the year, and I'm six months pregnant on top of that. Really, James, what do you expect from me?"

"Well, who else is going to take him? Al lives in Italy now and my job doesn't give me regular hours."

"What about your wife? Julia doesn't work. She can take care of Dad, it's not like she's got anything better to do."

"What do you mean by that? Are you calling Julia-"

"Quiet, his eyes are open."

Harry stared up at the white tiles laid out in perfect rows high above him. Where was he? What had happened? He could hear James and Lily arguing in the background - that was nothing new - but why couldn't he see them? He pushed with his arms, trying to sit up in the little bed he was laying on. Nothing happened. His arms remained limp by his side, unresponsive. A wild sort of panic began to descend over him as Harry frantically willed his body to obey him. His eyes darted deliriously across the room, searching for some sign of a curse, but there was nothing. His body remained motionless, completely detached from his mind and will. It was almost like it wasn't even a part of him anymore; he couldn't even really feel it. Had he been attacked? Was there a counter-curse or a potion, something he could do to fix this?

The faces of his children appeared above him, hovering over him like specters. The lights from the ceiling illuminated their hair around their scared, worried faces, like halos. The thought of _James_ and _Lily_ as angels made him want to laugh and he felt his check twitch in response. Those two had caused of every gray hair on his head.

"Dad? Dad, can you hear me?" James asked as Lily reached for his hand. Harry could feel her soft skin against his own rough fingers and he wanted to squeeze. His hand remained limp in hers.

"I know it must be scary waking up like this, but you're going to be okay," James continued, his face pale but earnest. Harry hadn't ever noticed the crow's feet in the corners of his eyes and the wrinkles around his mouth until just now. When did his funny, mischievous James get to be so old? "You've had a stroke. The Healer said that there was some damage to the brain, he says that you have something called Locked-In Syndrome. Basically, you're almost fully paralyzed. Don't panic, though, there are potions that are going to fix that. It's going to take some time until you're fully healed, but you're breathing on your own and that's good. Al is coming home, he'll be here tomorrow, and Lil is going to take care of you and Kreacher while you're healing and everything is going to be fine. You're going to be fine."

Harry saw his daughter's brown eyes flash angrily at her brother, but she didn't say anything to contradict him, just smiled tightlyand squeezed his hand. James always did have a way of getting exactly what he wanted.

* * *

"I've asked Ethan to Floo home tonight," Lily chattered as she pushed her father's wheelchair into her London townhouse. It would have been easier on her back to simply use magic to wheel him across the threshold, but she lived in a mostly Muggle neighborhood and she didn't want to attract any undo attention. She smiled - if her clenched jaw and angrily set teeth could be called a smile - at the nosy housewives that looked on pityingly. "He says that he has tests to grade, but that he should be here in time for dinner."

Harry wanted to nod along, but couldn't. The unsteady rolling of the wheelchair made his head bounce in time and he supposed that was close enough. The door flew open and Harry found himself in a perfectly lovely foyer, typically conventional and aesthetically pleasing. As always when Harry visited his daughter's home, he wondered at what she had become. The house looked like it would belong to his Aunt Petunia, not his curious and excitable little Lily. He remembered at how she had a new dream, a new ambition, every week. She was going to be a professional Quidditch player. Minister of Magic. Ambassador to the merpeople. She became a housewife instead. Harry would never disapprove of her choices; Molly had been a housewife and so had Ginny when she retired. He was proud of his daughter, but he couldn't help but worry. As the years had gone by she had begun to close herself off from him, her friends, everything, until her entire world consisted of nothing but her children, her house, and her husband. It seemed like too small a box to contain his Lily.

Lydia and Matthew were waiting for them in the living room, sitting nervously at the edge of the couch with fear in their eyes. Matt was eight years old and the spitting image of Lily at that age: all red hair and freckles, short and a little tubby from baby fat. Lydia was the odd one out amongst the Potters. She was the only blonde and her eyes were blue, like Ron and Arthur and Percy. It was hard to believe that she would be going to Hogwarts next year.

The two shrank away at the sight of him, looking awkward and unsure of what to do. "Don't just stand there, give your Granddad a hug," Lily chastised. Harry wanted to tell her that it was alright, that of course they would be scared. He didn't like seeing himself like this either.

The kids awkwardly put their arms around him before quickly pulling away. "Granddad's house-elf is acting really weird," Matt blurted out as soon as he had stepped off.

"His name is Kreacher," Lily corrected. "And I've explained-"

"He keeps calling me Miss Cissy," Lydia interrupted and folded her arms, pouting. "I don't like him."

"Kreacher is very, very old and he sometimes gets confused. I need you two to be a little more understanding. Not just towards Kreacher, but also towards Granddad, alright? I need help here." She patted her swollen stomach for emphasis.

Harry could feel his temper rise at being compared to _Kreacher_, of all people. His cheek twitched.

"Where's Kreacher now?" Lily asked, worriedly.

"Making dinner," Matt helpfully supplied.

"Kreacher is alone in a room full of poison and sharp objects... unsupervised..." Lily stood stock still for a moment as she let that sink before taking off in a dead run, her wand out and ready for trouble.

* * *

Harry sat uselessly at the dinner table, unable to actually eat any of the food on the table. Until the potion could repair his body more fully, the only food he received was through a tube. Lily, however, thought it would be rude to leave him out of the family dinner and parked his wheelchair at the table anyway.

What passed was one of the most awkward social settings that he had ever been in, and he had been in his fair share since becoming a member of the Weasley family. His son-in-law Ethan Whittier hadn't arrived yet and his daughter and grandchildren were listlessly picking over the remains of their dinner, reluctant to leave the table until he had arrived, with Kreacher hovering in the background, readying to swoop down and clear away the plates.

"I thought Dad was supposed to be here by now," Matt complained.

Lily made a noncommittal noise while Lydia glared helplessly at her empty plate. Both seemed resigned. Harry wondered how often this happened. He didn't know; Lily never told him about things like this. Ethan was a professor at Hogwarts, he understood how demanding it could be, but Neville always managed to make time for Hannah and he was the Head of Gryffindor House. At the very least, he was sure that Headmistress Sprout would have given him some time off after the man's own _father-in-law_ had suffered a debilitating stroke.

A sharp tapping drew their attention to the window. Lily immediately stood up and let the owl inside, taking the small letter that it had tied to its leg. "It's from your father," she announced. "He won't be able to make it tonight. Work."

Lydia threw her fork down and stormed off without another word. Kreacher shot her a funny look, mumbling all the while, as he took her plate and Apparated away. Harry noticed that he didn't bother to come back for anyone else's dish.

Lily's face twisted up for a brief second, and Harry was reminded of a tiger whose tail had just been pulled. But then it smoothed away and she turned towards her son. "Sorry, Matt, he'll be home soon, though. Why don't you go get ready for bed?"

Matt sighed and trudged off, dragging his feet with every step. As soon as he was out of earshot, Lily turned to her father and sighed. "He really wanted to be here, you know that, right?"

_Right, of course. _Harry closed his eyes, the only thing that he was capable of moving, and felt that creeping sensation of anger and helplessness that he had become so acquainted with in his early years. He hated feeling useless, he hated failing, and what's worse than not being able to take care of your family?


	3. Chapter 3

**Miles to Go Before I Sleep**

_Chapter 3_

It was unseasonably hot for a late autumn day and all Harry could do was glare hatefully at the sun from where he sat. The screams of the children as they played were beginning to give him a headache and the running commentary from Kreacher didn't help things any. The House-elf seemed very put out by the day's festivities and kept to the shadows, muttering about how inappropriate it was for "Miss Cissy" to run around in jeans. The day had barely begun and Harry was already tired. He should probably rest, but he wanted to stay for Lydia's birthday. The entire Weasley clan would be making an appearance and he refused to let them see how weak he really was.

Every year it seemed like more and more Weasleys just appeared out of thin air or sprung from the ground like spring flowers. Seeing so many young faces helped ease the sting that Harry felt at those who had passed on. Molly and Arthur and Percy had been dead for nearly twenty years now; their deaths were an old wound, nicely scarred over and rarely thought about. Percy's ex-wife Audrey hadn't bothered to appear for any Weasley family get-together since their divorce, much less now after his death, but their daughters were there. Lucy was chattering to Julia while her boy Henry clutched at her legs, begging incoherently for a sweet. Molly, whom the other Weasleys had always jokingly referred to as Junior to differentiate her from _the_ Molly, was helping Lily in the kitchen. Bill had also passed on a few years ago, not long after the death of his daughter Dominique. It was always the hardest when someone so young died and the Weasleys had lost three who had perished before the age of 30: Dominique, Roxanne, and, of course, Fred.

It seemed as though George always had the worst luck when it came to losing the people he loved: first his twin and then his daughter. He was sitting in the shade with his wife and son; his smile was as wide and infectious as it had always been, but there was something different about his eyes. They were old and tired and wounded. Roxanne's death had been a horrible accident. She had been a professional Quidditch player, already famous even before stepping out onto the field as the niece of the great Ginny Potter, who had retired from Quidditch permanently just a few years before. It had been her first season when a Bludger broke the handle off one of her teammate's brooms. He spun wildly out of control and crashed into Roxanne, the broken handle piercing her side. She was dead before they had even gotten her safely to the ground. In a way it was better than what happened to Dominique because at least with Roxanne they had a body to bury. Dominique had gone to France to visit her grandparents and went out one night with a group of friends. She never returned. Her friends insisted that she had called it an early night and left the group around 10, but nothing else was heard from her. Bill had clung to the hope that maybe she had just run away for some reason, that she was still alive somewhere. It took him a long time to accept what had most likely happened.

And then there was Ginny.

It wasn't all tragedy, though. The good times had far outweighed the bad. The tragedies had blindsided them, but they would keep on going because that was what they needed to do. So life went.

Harry couldn't turn his head yet, but he could see Ron and Hermione walk into the garden from the corner of his eye. His cheek twitched, finally blooming into a lop-sided smile as they came up to stand next to him, grinning and with tears in their eyes. Harry had always found it odd that books and newspapers continued to publish the same old photographs of their teenage years, instead of how they looked now: old and wrinkled and overweight. He had met quite a few young people who were surprised to learn that he was still alive; they had never seen any picture of him older than the age of twenty-five, after all. It was like the world wanted to imagine them as immortal children, like Peter Pan. It was funny; when _he_ looked into his friends' face he didn't see those terrified teenagers in their eyes staring back out at him. He just saw Ron and Hermione, as they were.

They came up beside him, summoning a pair of chairs so they could sit down. "Typical," Ron moaned good-naturedly, his bald head shining like a crown in the sun. "Here you are just lazing about while everyone else has to mind the kids."

Harry's hand twitched in an attempt to give his old friend the two-finger salute. He didn't quite succeed, but Ron picked up what he meant anyway and laughed.

Hermione leaned over to squeeze his arm as she settled into her seat. She opened her mouth to say something, but all she could get out was a strangled sigh and a self-deprecating laugh. She leaned over and kissed his cheek and Harry could feel the pain blooming in his chest as he felt the tears rolling down her face.

"Dad?"

Hermione pulled away then, allowing Harry to see his youngest son for the first time in almost six months. Albus Severus stood a few feet away with a dark young man behind him, gamely trying to keep the fear and horror from his face but the stricken look in his eyes made Harry's heart go out. It only took a moment for Albus to suddenly lurch forward and wrap his hands awkwardly around his father. Harry wished he could raise his arms to hug him back.

Albus pulled away, nodding to his aunt and uncle as he straightened up. "I'm sorry I couldn't get here sooner, but I've made arrangements with the embassy so I'll be able to stay as long as you'll need me. James said you were healing, so that's good, yeah?"

Albus nodded again, as though just remembering that Harry couldn't reply. Then he gave a little jolt and gestured for his companion to step forward beside him. "This is Francesco Conti," Albus explained as the man gave a little wave at him. He was handsome, with dark brown skin and a strong jaw, and looked to be the same age as Harry's son. "He's a, um, friend of mine."

Francesco smiled and said in a thick accent, "It is a pleasure to meet you."

"We're going to go catch up with everyone, but we'll be back, okay?" Albus said it like he thought Harry was going to go somewhere. He wanted to tell his son to stop worrying, but even if he wasn't paralyzed he wouldn't have bothered to say it. He knew that it wouldn't do any good.

Albus and Francesco walked away towards Teddy and Victoire. The two were standing so close together that their shoulders brushed against each other with every step, their fingers touching.

Harry's eyebrows knitted together as he watched Albus with his companion.

Ron whistled lowly. "Well, I guess now we know why Al's never had himself a girlfriend. _OW!_ Merlin, 'Mione, I didn't mean it in a bad way!"

Harry's cheek twitched again, pulling down in a half-frown before falling slack once more. Harry didn't care if Albus preferred men; he would continue to support him as he had always done. His children knew that. He and Ginny had both told them again and again that they would always love them no matter what. So why had Albus never told him? Why keep it a secret? It disturbed Harry to think that Albus felt the need to hide this from him. Lately, it seemed like he was failing all of his children in some way. They were all keeping secrets from him: James, Lily, and now Al. What had gone wrong?

Suddenly a sharp cry pierced the air. Harry watched as everyone stood up, their heads turning towards the source, and he desperately wished he could see what was going on. Then James walked into his field of vision, carrying a struggling Lydia as Lily trailed behind them, her hands on her stomach, trying desperately to soothe her daughter. "He said he would be here!" She howled, pushing against her uncle with her might and lashing out with her feet. James valiantly tried to hold on, but Lydia wasn't a little kid anymore that he could pick up and throw over his shoulder like he used to. "He's always lying! I hate him! I hope he never comes home!"

Matt started crying then, adding more fuel to Lydia's tirade. Harry's fingers jerked closed in a loose fist as he thought about his son-in-law's absence. Harry had spent most of his childhood wanting a family, and here Ethan was throwing his away. It enraged him. Lily was his daughter, these were his grandchildren; they deserved better than that.

Harry wasn't the only one to think so.

It was obvious that Kreacher had developed a fondness for Lydia. Something about the little girl reminded him of Narcissa Malfoy and although it displeased Harry it wasn't completely unexpected. Kreacher had confused him for Orion Black on occasion, after all, and with Lydia's long blonde hair he supposed it was only natural for Kreacher to associate her with Narcissa. As James tried to drag the howling girl inside, a sudden blast of magic sent him sprawling to the ground, allowing Lydia to slip free and run to her mother. "KEEP YOUR FILTHY BLOOD TRAITOR HANDS OFF OF HER!" Kreacher screamed as he rapidly Apparated in front of James. James looked up at the House-elf from where he laid but before his son could scramble to his feet he was blasted backwards with another powerful wave of magic.

"Merlin, I always said he was nutter!" Ron hissed as he ran towards the attack, his wand out.

Hermione was with him every step of the way. "Careful, Ron, he's sick! He doesn't understand that what he is doing is wrong."

They left Harry there to watch helplessly as Kreacher assaulted his oldest boy.

Albus and Victoire were already trying to subdue the crazed House-elf by the time Ron and Hermione jumped into the fray. Kreacher dodged their spells easily enough for such an old, pitiful creature and Harry was reminded of just how powerful House-elfs really were. "BLOOD TRAITORS!" He spat out above the rising din of crying children. "I HOPE THE DARK LORD KILLS YOU ALL!"

Then Kreacher's eyes fell upon Lydia, who was sobbing in her mother's side, her arms wrapped losely around her pregnant stomach. The sight of her made him recoil in horror and cower away from the wizards and witches he had just been attacking, allowing James to finally scramble up and pull out his wand. Before any of the others could catch him, Kreacher Apparated away with a flick of his fingers, leaving the Weasleys to stand there in awkward silence.

"He's not coming back here," Lily hissed, breaking the spell that had fallen over the party. "I don't care who takes him, but he is _not_ coming back here." She then herded the still-crying Lydia and Matt inside.

"That House-elf is insane," James muttered as he rubbed his aching shoulder, Julia stroking his arm worryingly. "He shouldn't be around people."

"We'll take care of him for you," Ron said to Harry, before turning to Hermione. "So, where do you think he's gone? Back to the Burrow?"

"More probably Grimmauld Place," she answered.

"Let's go then before he runs out into the street and starts terrifying the Muggles."

The party ended after that. Albus came over to sit beside his father as the guests started to file out, quiet and subdued by what they had witnessed. "I will go and see if Lily needs any help," Francesco offered and he quickly slipped inside the house, leaving Harry alone with his son.

Albus looked at him, his mouth parted slightly as though he wanted to say something. But in the end all he did was lean over and hug him; a proper hug this time, tight and aching and no longer afraid that Harry would break.


End file.
